


i can't give you my soul (cause we're never alone)

by pumpkin130



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Idiots in Love, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2020-10-05 14:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20490572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkin130/pseuds/pumpkin130
Summary: The one where they never went to New Ham, but Allie and Harry end up together anyway.inspired by the 1975's somebody else





	1. i don't want your body

It started like this: it was March, and Kelly had broken up with him for what she swore “was the last time”, and Harry was bored, and Allie was just there. 

It really wasn’t even his fault, it was all because of that stupid play Kelly had made him sign up for; even though he told everyone is was because of Cassandra and “she can’t have all the spotlight, right boys?” But, it was really for Kelly, mostly because her eyes had sparkled when she had told him about it but also because he kinda thought doing it in period clothing would be fun. 

But then she had gone and dumped him for that Will kid, and he was left - alone - with no one but the fucking _ Pressman sisters _ for company.

Cassandra was off the table, for obvious reasons, which left him with Allie, the younger, shorter, and (presumably) more tolerable of the two.

So yeah. that’s how it started.

* * *

The hallway was, surprisingly, empty. No jocks, no nerds, no preps, and - most importantly - no Cassandra. Allie was standing at her locker, trying to make it to lunch in time to meet Will before he went to see Kelly, which she knew was honestly a losing battle but she just missed her best friend and oh god why didn’t I just tell him how I felt I promised Cassandra I would but- 

“Pressman! Hey.” Her head rocketed up, shocked by the sound of Harry’s voice, and banged into the door of the locker. Slowly turned towards him, disbelief of the interaction evident on her face. 

“Uh... hi... Harry,” the last word coming out as a grimace, her eyes finally reaching his, searching for some explanation of what was happening.

He was staring at her as if he was expecting her to offer him something, before letting out an exasperated sigh when she remained silent. 

“I need your help.” It was said in the tone of a man who was not used to asking for things.

“I’m sorry... What?” Eyes wide in bewilderment, she began to glance around the hallway half expecting Jason to jump out with a camera any second.

Harry was determined, steadfast in his response. “I need your help.”

“You need... my help?” Allie asked, a small, confused smile playing at the corners of her lips, disbelief evident in her eyes.

He shrugged. “Yeah. I’m trying to learn these stupid fucking lines, Cross is all up my ass about it. And you don’t really seem to do anything out follow Cassie around like a-“

“Why do you call her that? Cassie. You know she hates it.”

“You just answered your own question Pressman. Now, will you help me?” He shrugged again, clearly uncomfortable.

“Learn your lines?”

“Yeah.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“What? of course. I just... need some help. And, I don’t know if you heard or not, but Kelly and I kinda-“

“I heard.” They both stared at each other, both knowing what was going unsaid. There was, at that moment, one single thing that they understood about each other.

“So, yeah. I don’t have a ton of options. And you’re always here, so I just kinda figured...” He trailed off, looking at her expectantly. The was buzzing, as if something monumental was about to occur.

A second passed. Two, three, four. Then, finally, “I’ll do it.”

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers - clearly surprised by the answer - and a small smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Really?” Yet it only took a second for the usual Harry bravado to reappear. 

“Great. Thanks Pressman. I owe you one”

She shrugged, unable to meet his eyes, very much aware of the danger in what she was agreeing to. 

“Sure”

He nodded, looking earnest and not at all like the image she had so long associated with the spoiled boy two streets over. He grabbed her wrist, and she was forced to look into his eyes.

“I’m serious Allie”. 

She believed him (she didn’t, and still doesn't know why). Tugging her wrist back, she began to twirl a stray piece of hair around her fingers, her gaze reverting back to the floor. 

“Just find me when you need me.” A short, yet poignant, pause. “Like you said. I’m always here.”

“Thank you, Allie. Really”

“You’re welcome Harry.”

And there they stood, both on the verge of small, timid smiles, entirely unaware of what they were getting into.

* * *

Here’s how it didn’t happen: the two were locked in the theater accidentally one night after they stayed late to run lines, and after staring deeply into each other's eyes for quite a long while they decided to spend the night together. Their relationship blossomed as a result of mutual love and respect that translated with every touch.

* * *

It was a Tuesday, Allie remembers that. They were running lines, which had somehow become a regular pastime for her and her sisters rival. He had looked so pitiful, when he first asked her, he reminded Allie of one of those dogs sitting on the side of the road you can’t help but take it (not to mention with Will always off with Kelly, she had the time). That’s what she told herself when she took a moment to question why she agreed, anyway.

They weren’t friends, necessarily, but she didn’t actively hate him anymore and he had stopped referring to her as “satan spans baby sister” so that was an improvement.

He liked her because he knew it pissed off Cassandra (and also because, if he was being totally honest, he liked that she wasn’t afraid to stand up and argue with him) and she tolerated him partially because she didn’t really have a choice, she was only an assistant stage manager, and if the male lead says he needs to run lines you don’t really have a choice but to run lines; but also for another reason she couldn’t really identify- she thought it may be because of his hair. She had always kind of had an obsession with his hair. After hearing Cassandra complain about it for so many years (“I mean honestly Allie, he always looks like he just rolled out of bed! How can he expect to be respected enough to be student body president if he doesn’t respect the school, an institution of learning, enough to run a brush over his head every morning!”) she had become quite familiar with the unruly mop.

If Allie was being completely honest, she would tell you she liked his hair. If for no other reason than as a small act of rebellion against her sister, who she loved, more than life, but could sometimes be a wee bit controlling (because honestly, Cassandra, it was high school, not the United Nations); but also, because a very (not really) small part of herself thought it was - dare she say it - cute. The guy had permanent sex hair, and it worked for him. 

So yeah, they were kind of friends. Friends who, on that fateful Tuesday, were arguing about how to properly pronounce caramel. 

Really just arguing for argument's sake.

(not because they both liked the small rush they got from arguing with each other)

(totally not that)

“You’re blind. it’s obviously pronounced car-A-mel. who says it with two syllables? Caramel is fantastic, it deserves us taking the extra time to say it”. Allie was perched on a desk, her script discarded at her side. 

Leaning towards her across the divide, Harry responded, “Okay, but, and just hear me out, have you ever considered that, maybe, you sound like you have three brain cells? It’s car-mel. Say it with me: car-mel”. Harry was waving his script around as he talked; Allie had learned quickly that he moved his hands a lot while monologuing, and had taken to sitting a few desks away at any given time. 

“Saying it with two syllables makes you have two brain cells. Also, the a is actually in the word, so suck on that, Harry”. She leaned back victoriously, waiting for his counterargument.

“Touché. I stand by my way, though. My way or the highway, that’s what my dad always says... said, i guess”. His sentence trailed off, leaving a heavy silence to settle between them. He was no longer waving his script around, instead looking down at it, refusing to meet her eyes.

A second passed, before she blurted it out- “I like your hair.”

His head snapped up, bewilderment evident on his face.

“What?”

Allie could feel the heat beginning to rise to her cheeks, but she said it again, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. 

“I like your hair. Cassandra doesn’t, she thinks it looks stupid, but to be completely honest, I’ve always found it a little bit... charming”. A breath. “And I don’t know, you were talking about your dad, and you just looked so lost and I figured, it’s Harry, he likes compliments, and so I just thought maybe,” another breath, “if I said something,” and another, “I don’t know. I just didn’t want you to look so sad. That’s all. I like your hair. Let’s be done with it.”

She thought to herself - almost as a distraction and he opened and closed his mouth several times while trying to form a response, his pupils having grown three times the usual size- that it was so unfair how Cassandra could monologue for hours, concisely laying down an argument; all she could do was ramble. If there was one gift she could steal from her sister, it would be the ability to talk, and talk, and talk; all the while making people listen to her.

“You... like my hair?” A small smile was playing on his lips, his pupils no longer the size of saucers but instead beginning to twinkle.

“I was just trying to make you feel better.” The sentence came out as a grumble, Allie slouching down further in her seat as the twinkle continued to grow. “And I didn’t know what to say. But yeah, I do like your hair. I stand by the comment.”

He was full on grinning now, not his typical cheshire cat smile, something much softer; something that until that point she had thought was reserved for Kelly, and probably his sister. 

Oh, she thought to herself as she felt a smile begin to creep into her face, feeling a growing sense of dread that the same fondness was glowing behind her own eyes. Oh no. 

She remembers it was a Tuesday, and that his smile was glowing, and that she may have been too. 

That’s how it happened. For Allie, anyway. 

There were no fireworks, no big declaration. Just a warm feeling growing in the pit of her stomach, and the vague realization that not only was she friends with Harry Bingham, she liked more about him than just his hair. 

* * *

For Harry, it happened a little more gradually. There was no hey there moment, he had been calling the younger Pressman his friend since the first time she agreed to run lines with him. He had practically skipped up to Cassandra, nose in the air and the words “Did you know your sis and I are friends now?” falling from his lips. 

He had never expected to actually_ like _ Allie - he was just looking for another way to piss off Cassandra - but found, much to his surprise, that he genuinely enjoyed spending time with her. She was smart, and quick (a lot like her sister), and even though she was quick to disagree with him there was something so much less enraging when she did. Perhaps it was her kinda adorable (god knows where that adjective came from) habit of rambling when she got nervous, or excited, or upset. A far cry from her sister’s “holier than thou” monologues. 

He began noticing little things about her: the small star necklace she always wore, resting soundly above her collarbone; her habit of throwing her feet into any and every surface available (something he knew his mother would have scoffed at); the way she played with the ends of her hair as she sat, script propped on on her knees, feet resting on the chair in front of her, reading the lines meant for her sister. 

He had once thought- absentmindedly, after maybe their third time running lines together- that it would have been so much easier if it had always been Allie instead of Cassandra.

(a small, unrealistic idea that he decided didn’t mean anything)

(I can give you a hint: it meant something)

She was, for lack of a better word, magnificent.

And she belonged to Cassandra.

* * *

They were at the wrap party when it happened. She would say he blackmailed her to come - something about texting Cassie about how her baby sister thought his hair was cute - but she was smiling when she agreed and had let him drive her there, so he didn’t feel that bad about it.

They were sitting at the side of the pool, watching Grizz throw cheese balls at Jason.

She looked over at him, allowing herself a moment to appreciate the way he smiled when he was drinking: open and real, not the fake one he plastered on at school.

(she didn’t want to think about the fact that he seemed to reserve his true smiles for her more and more) 

“Enjoying the view?”

Allie snapped back to focus, finding Harry smiling down at her, Grizz and Jason seemingly forgotten.

“I thought this was supposed to be a cast party?” She deflected, nodding toward the two football players, who were quickly being joined by more members of the team.

“Well, it was, but you made me invite your sister,”

“Because it would be rude not to,”

“Right, because it would be rude not to,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We have always been so polite to each other in the past no sense to turn into heathens now.”

Allie was trying to hold back a smile.

“But, like you said, it would be rude not to, but we can not forget that I also very much dislike her. So, I decided, to ensure that I would not have to talk to her, to invite the whole school.”

As he said the last two words, he quickly spread his arms like one would while standing on the peak of a mountain, bumping his hand into her chest.

His hand, which was holding his drink.

His drink, which splashed all over her.

“Oh!” It was cold, and dark, and quickly seeping into the sweater she was wearing. Her _ favorite _sweater.

“Oh,” he repeated, noticing the growing circle in the center of her chest. “Oh shit.”

He quickly stood up, offering her his hand and pulling her up and into the house. Weaving around people standing in the kitchen, up the stairs and into the laundry room.

She shrugged off the sweater as he grabbed a box of stain-remover and began to reach for the stained piece of clothing at the same time.

She absentmindedly thought it was kinda cute that he knew how to do his own laundry. She had always figured he had a maid do it or something. At the very least, his mom. 

He glanced over to her, noticing the question evident on her face. 

“I had to learn when my dad died. Mom was never home, and Amy needed her shit washed, like, all the time, so I figured it out.”

He threw the sweater in the washer and pushed some buttons.

“There. Should be good as new in about an hour. I can grab you a t-shirt or something - Oh.”

As he turned to face her, Harry became very aware of the fact she was only wearing a bra. He felt the heat begin to rise to his face, and noticed that her chest was a similar bright red.

“Oh, shit sorry - ”

“It’s my fault I should have warned you - ”

“I’m really fucking sorry I’ll grab you a shirt - ”

“You know I should probably just… Go.”

“What?” He finally brought his head back up, meeting her eyes.

“Don’t go. I want you here.”

He sounded like he was telling the truth, and she couldn’t find it in herself to deny him.

“Fine. But I need a shirt.”

The order seemed to snap him out of his confusion, he stumbled forward as he muttered, “right, right, a shirt. You need a shirt. I have shirts.”

He grabbed her hand again as he looked out the doorway, before turning back and nodding, as if to say “the coast is clear”. Then, once again, Allie found herself being dragged through his house, quickly arriving at what could only be his bedroom. 

He dropped her hand and he stalked towards his dresser, and Allie quietly shut the door behind them. She turned to see him standing in front of her, his arm outstretched offering her a blue-button down, his eyes glued to the ceiling.

“Thanks”. The words were quiet, barely above a whisper, as anything louder seemed out of place in the silence of his bedroom, the noise of the party muffled behind the thick door. 

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t tell anyone I did something nice. Can’t let you ruin my player reputation”.

“Harry, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think you have a player reputation. You’ve only had one girlfriend.”

She shrugged the shirt over her shoulders, and began rolling up the far too long sleeves.

“I’m covered now, by the way”. 

Harry removed his eyes from the ceiling, glancing down at her as if to double check she was telling the truth. 

He felt his body start to burn at the sight of her in his shirt. Allie was messing with the buttons, not looking at him.

“Here, let me help”.

And all of a sudden, he was there. Right in front of her, only a breath away. He was busy doing up the last button, and she was busy staring at him. 

Finally, after what felt like eons, he looked up.

Their breathing was in synch. 

They locked eyes.

His hands were still holding onto the bottom of her shirt.

She glanced down at his lips.

He couldn’t stop looking at her.

She was beautiful.

Standing there, in his bedroom, wearing his shirt, so close he could feel her breath on his cheek.

He was rumpled, his breath smelling sweet on her face. His hair ( _ god _ his hair) was sticking all over the place, just asking to be touched.

He looked like a bad idea.

A gorgeous, bad idea.

Allie wanted a lot of things in her life. To be as well-spoken as her sister. To get out of the town that would forever remember her as the other Pressman girl. To finally prove that she was not Cassandra, but her own person, worthy of her own praise.

But right there, in that moment, the only thing she wanted was for Harry Bingham to kiss her.

Reaching up, she grabbed his neck, feeling the soft hair between her fingers.

His pupils were the size of saucers, staring down at her, deep pools of brown. 

She looked like an angel. 

They were practically on top of eachother, bodies so close they could feel each other’s heartbeats.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Until there was no space between them at all.


	2. An Interlude, Pt. 1

The room was silent, save for their mismatched, erratic breathing. 

The last hour played in her head, images rolling over each other like an old film skipping on the track:

His mouth on her neck;

His hips, grinding into hers;

His hands undoing the buttons he had just closed;

His hair between her hands;

His laugh against her mouth;

Him, him,  _ him. _

* * *

Her hair was like gold.

Long and tangled, it splayed across his chest. A rogue piece has somehow made its way between his fingers, and as he laid there, listening to Allie’s steady, even breathing, he couldn’t help but feel like they were the only people in the whole universe.

* * *

Neither of them returned to the party. Harry assumed the Grizz (really, the most responsible of all of them) had eventually kicked everyone out, as the muffled sounds of teenagers finally dimmed. 

Somewhere in there Allie had fallen asleep, but her hair remained on his chest: physical, tangible evidence of what had happened.

They had the same hair - Allie and Cassandra - yet their individual styles portrayed their personalities for anyone that knew them. Cassandra: put together, organized, practical. Allie: untamable (even if she didn’t know it yet). 

* * *

If someone were to ask Harry Bingham if he remembered the first time he saw Allie, he would say no. Say that he couldn’t have been bothered to take notice of the younger Pressman, that her existence was irrelevant to him aside from the fact she was his arch enemies sister, that she was simply another of Cassandra’s groupies. 

He would be lying. 

It was the first day of kindergarten. He was standing with his nanny, quietly surveying the chaos around him as she gently whispered in his ear to go play with the other boys. All he wanted to do was go home.

He heard the sobbing before he saw the girl. It was different from the way his baby sister cried, all balled up fists and pointless screams. The way this kid was crying felt more like when he had watched that deer movie and the mom had died. 

He realized the noise was coming from a family standing by the doorway. A mom, a dad, two sisters, both blonde and with steely blue eyes.The older one was bent down, talking to the wailing mop.

“Allie, it’s gonna be okay. I’ll be home soon, and you get to go over to Auntie Cara’s and Uncle Mike’s and play with Sam! It’ll be fun, I promise.”.”

“But you won’t be there,” the smaller one choked out, as her sobs grew quieter (but not less painful). 

“It’ll only be for a little while. And then I’ll be home and you won’t even remember I was gone. I have to go now. I love you Allie-Cat.” 

Quickly, the taller girl hugged both her parents, gave her sister a kiss on the cheek, and skipped into the classroom. 

She didn’t look back. 

Harry didn’t remember much about kindergarten: it had been loud, and everything was sticky, and for some godforsaken reason Clark had brought this stupid orange football to school everyday and he threw it at Harry’s head once.

But, as much as he tried to forget it, that day, that  _ moment _ was burned in his memory. Standing there, watching Allie watch her sister, he felt such a searing jealousy for the girl he would soon learn was named Cassandra. Stupid, perfect Cassandra whose whole family bothered to show up on her first day of kindergarten and a sister who looked at her like she hung the moon.

He wanted someone to look at him like that. To look at him like he  _ mattered. _

* * *

Harry woke up to the sounds of feet on his bedroom floor. His head was pounding, and Allie was frantically pacing around his room wearing nothing but a bra and a pair of his sweatpants.

Oh.  _ Oh. _

She was rambling.

“What did we do? What did I do? Oh god, Cassandra is gonna  _ kill _ -”

“Me. She will kill me before she kills you.” He sat up as he interrupted her rant. 

Allie flopped onto the bed, landing half on top of him, her face so, so close to his. He could feel her breath on his cheek.

“Of course she wouldn’t kill me. She’s been looking for a reason to take you out for a long as I can remember.” Her eyes were sparkling. She looked terrified and amused at the same time. She looked beautiful.

“She can never find out about this, right?”

He already knew the answer to his question.

* * *

He couldn’t help but think: “But what if we did tell her?” What happens then? 

He knew it wasn't an option. He just didn't know why it hurt so much that he knew it. 

* * *

“We can’t tell her right? Oh god, what if we told her. What if… No.”

“Never.”

“Right. Never.”

They both tried not to think about how they had hesitated.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Allie to see the red splotches dotting her neck and chest. She stood in front of his dresser, looking in the mirror and running her finger slowly over each one. “I did that,” Harry thought to himself, rather numbly, trying not to think about how large her eyes had grown as she poked a particularly dark one. 

* * *

What he didn’t know: she thought the same thing when she caught sight on the faint scratches criss crossing his back as he walked to the bathroom.

* * *

What she didn’t know as she sat and inspected the marks he had left all over her: He hadn't done that with Kelly, not since they were freshman and learning how to touch each other.

* * *

If she wasn’t on the verge of tears, she probably would have found the whole situation funny. Ironic, at the very least: a decision that had to be kept a secret, yet one they both bore physical markings from. Hiding this from her parents, let alone her sister, was going to be harder than she thought, if the markings dotting her upper body had anything to say about it. 

Harry emerged from his bathroom, hand rubbing his neck, a sheepish expression on his face. She caught sight of a mole on his chest that she vaguely remembered licking, and felt her entire body flush bright red. 

Harry felt rather than heard himself start talking: “Do you need like… breakfast or anything? I don’t really know how to cook but I could make eggs. Or toast. I can do toast.” He didn't really know why he was asking her - logically, he needed to get her out of his house as fast as humanly possible - but there was something deep in his stomach that just kept saying  _ stay.  _

Allie’s eyes flicked up, meeting his. She stayed in her corner, and Harry felt like something was being torn away from him. At one point during the night, a chasm had opened between them, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. 

“I just need to get home. My parents are probably worried sick, and Cassandra…”

The chasm grew wider.

* * *

They were in his car. She had tried to refuse a ride, insisting she could walk herself home because “Harry I’m only one year younger than you not seven,” but he ended up being more stubborn that she was willing to fight. Allie later mused it was a consequence of both their relationships with Cassandra: one of them knew when they were beaten and the other was never willing to give up. 

So Harry gave her a t-shirt to go along with the sweatpants she pulled off the floor when she had woken up at one point or another (that absolutely didn’t smell like him).

Allie made him stop a few houses down, mumbling something about his car and how much Cassandra complained about “that damn thing it’s so bad for the environment and honestly Allie they could have just donated that money but no” and how anyone in her house would recognize it. She looked over the console at him - something unreadable in her eyes - and turned her head away as she went to open the door.

He moved without thinking, grabbing one of her wrists. Making her  _ stay _ . “Wait.”

Harry didn’t like to think of himself as a beggar, but Allie Pressman had snuck up on him, somehow, and he wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted. 

“Are we… Are we okay?” It was a loaded question, and obviously they weren't, but he knew he wouldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t ask her. 

She peered at him from under her wall of hair, and huffed. “I’m not upset, if that’s what you’re asking. I mean, it wasn’t like I’ve never done it before (which was true, and the only secret she had ever kept from her sister - until this morning, at least) and I wasn’t  _ that  _ drunk, so yeah. I’m not going to write an article in five years about how some guy tricked me into sleeping with him by spilling beer all over me.” 

“That isn’t what I meant.”

Allie sighed. “I know.” She leaned her head back against the seat, realizing his hand was still wrapped around her wrist. Not in a possessive way, but grounding. Steady. Stable. All of the things she knew Harry wasn’t. “What do you want from me, Harry?”

He was so quiet, she almost didn’t hear him: “I don’t want to lose you. To lose this… whatever this is.”

She whipped her head up to face him and didn’t think she could remember a time he had looked so vulnerable. .

“You’re my friend. . Don’t worry, I think we were both a little too drunk for our own good. And I don’t… regret it, necessarily, but I don’t think it should happen again.”

She nodded emphatically. He let go of her wrist.

“I’ll see you at school.”

“See you around Pressman.”

With a small smile she got out of the car and somehow made it back to her room without running into either of her parents or her sister. “Small miracles,” she thought to herself as she inspected her neck, trying to decide how she was going to hide the hickey’s Harry had left. 

Her wrist was cold. She realized she had forgotten her sweater. 

* * *

In the interest of saving everyone’s time, I’m just going to come out and say it: it happened again. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this literally months ago but only got around to finishing it today. I have also decided that Harry's little sister is named Amy.  
Enjoy.


End file.
